The gates of heaven swung wide to admit that great soul, and the form of clay that was left lying there seemed touched with the glory that streamed forth.  All traces of suffering vanished, and the placid face wore—­

    “The look of one who bore away
    Glad tidings from the hills of day.”

Every sorrow brings a peace with it, and Angelina’s sorrow was swallowed up in joy that the beloved sister had escaped from pain and infirmity, and entered into fuller and closer communion with her heavenly Father.

She and Sarah had promised each other that no stranger hands should perform the last offices to their mortal remains.  How lovingly this promise was now kept by Angelina, we must all understand.

The weather was very cold, and in order to give her friends at a distance opportunity to attend the funeral it did not take place until the 27th.  One of the last requests of this woman, whose life had been an embodiment of the most tender chanty and the truest humility, was that she might be laid in a plain pine coffin, and the difference in price between it and the usual costly one be given as her last gift to the poor.  She knew—­divine soul!—­that her cold form would sleep just as quietly, be guarded by the angels just as faithfully, and as certainly go to its resurrection glory from a pine box as from the richest rosewood casket.  And it was like the sweet simplicity of her whole life,—­nothing for show, all for God and his poor.

Her request was complied with, but loving hands covered every inch of that plain stained coffin with fragrant flowers, making it rich and beautiful with those sincere tributes of affection and gratitude to one whose memory was a benediction.

The funeral services were conducted by the Rev. Francis Williams, pastor of the Unitarian Church of Hyde Park, and eloquent remarks were made by him and by Wm. Lloyd Garrison.

Mr. Williams could only testify to Sarah’s life as he had known it since she came to live in the village.

“To the last,” he said, “while her mind could plan, her pen could move, and her heart could prompt, she was busy in the service of humanity,—­with her might and beyond her strength, in constant nameless deeds of kindness to those in need in our own neighborhood, and far to the south, deeds which were wise and beautiful,—­help to the poor, sympathy with the suffering, consolation to the dying.  She has fought the good fight of right and love; she has finished her course of duty; she has kept the faith of friendship and sacrifice.

“We will more truly live because she has lived among us.  May her hope and peace be ours.”